


but we are alive (here in death valley)

by orphan_account



Series: We Could Be Immortals [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fake AH Crew, Immortal Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets injured and goes to the Crew (or, rather, their apartment) for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but we are alive (here in death valley)

God, she knew she shouldn’t be here. She was just the weird immortal that invited herself along to a trip, she was nothing special to them. They’d shoot her on the spot, and shoot again and again until she was out long enough for them to dump her out in the middle of nowhere. But she needed this, she needed help; she didn’t want to die, she never liked dying. Sure, she could look death in the face without blinking, she’d stared down the barrel of the gun more times than she could count, but _actually_ dying, that split second before it all just stops, is the most terrifying thing she’s ever experienced.

Sam struggled to use the lockpick as her hands shook, tired eyes blinking rapidly every time she felt them start to slip shut. The pain in her side kept growing worse, and she was afraid to look down and see just how much blood there was- shit. She scrubbed a hand down her face, accidentally dirtying it even more from her bloody hands, as the pick slipped out of her fingers, hitting the ground with a soft _ping_.

She could have easily just took herself to the hospital, but after helping the Crew with that heist, her face was plastered everywhere. She really should have thought that through, honestly. She really needed to work on upgrading her first aid kit; ace bandages and rubbing alcohol wasn’t going to help the wounds on her stomach. This was the most dangerous crew in Los Santos, they would have the best first aid kit you could get, right?

Sam picked the lockpick back up, her hands just barely steadier than before as she concentrated. A tired, happy smile spread across her cheeks as she heard the lock click. She gripped the door handle and struggled to stand up, twisting it and slipping inside. She barely remembered that she needed to be quiet, shutting the door behind her.

The apartment that the crew stayed in was large, much larger than anything she had stayed in since before she had discovered her immortality. It was an open space, a simple bar counter cutting off the kitchen from the living room. The kitchen was the first place she stumbled to, hoping, praying that they kept their first aid kit under the sink like most people. She didn’t know where the bathroom was, and really didn’t want to open the wrong door and wake up the Crew. Thankfully, they did keep a large kit under the sink.

She fell back from where she was crouched in front of the cabinets, pulling the kit out and throwing it open. She pulled on gloves and tore open a pack of absorbent pads with her teeth, setting it aside and grabbing the rubbing alcohol. She poured some on the pad and put it on the wound on her abdomen, clenching her jaw to keep from screaming. Sam let out a harsh breath through her nose, blinking back tears.

She’d gone in way over her head, and certainly paid the price for it. In Los Santos, dog fighting rings weren’t common, but they were there. As a huge animal lover, Sam had immediately wanted to put a stop to it. Of course, she could have reported it to the police and let them handle it, but she thought she could have handled it herself. Oh yeah, she put a stop to it all right, she thought bitterly as she put another alcohol soaked pad on her stomach. The fighting dog that had charged her was saved, right after he tried tearing open her stomach with his teeth. She had barely managed to get out of the ring, taking off in her shitty car.

Sam stared down at the suture kit and tried not to groan. Oh, she hated stitching herself up so much. She let her head fall back against the cabinet, struggling to catch her breath and take a break before doing it.

She heard a door open and froze, every muscle in her body tensing. There was a single footstep, before it paused. She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut. They started walking again, getting louder as they got closer. She was aware of the person in the room, the hair on the back of her neck standing up as she felt their stare on her. She knew that as soon as she opened her eyes, she’d have a gun in her face.

She sighed and opened her eyes, looking up at the stranger. Of course it was going to be the Vagabond, in all of his masked glory, that finds her trespassing in their kitchen. She had such shitty luck. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his bare torso, which was littered in scars. She winced at just the thought of what they could have came from.

“You any good with stitches?” She croaked, too tired and in pain to even get up and try to fight him. The gun in her face didn’t lower, but he hadn’t shot her yet so she took that as a win. “My hands are shaking way too much to do it right, and I hate needles.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the hospital?” Vagabond questioned, his voice even deeper than usual from just waking up.

Sam sucked in a breath, starting to get worried by how much she was wheezing. “Do you not watch the news? My face has been all over it since that heist.”

“That’s your own fault for inviting yourself along to _our_ heist.” Vagabond said, kneeling down in front of her.

She shrugged, keeping pressure against her stomach, even with him being so close scaring her. “YOLO, right?”

Ryan lowered the gun and barely restrained from muttering an ‘ _Oh my god_.’ Her and Ray would really get along well. “Fine. I’m not good at stitches, but one of the others are. I’ll get them.” He stood back up and she watched him leave, going back to the room he came from.

Sam tried to adjust, but the movement sent an explosion of pain erupting from her stomach. She bit down harshly on her bottom lip, mindful of her lip rings, but a loud whimper still escaped.

“What is it, Ryan?” A tired, female voice said before Vagabond and the redhead that Sam had seen during the heist walked into the kitchen. “Oh my god. Is that-?”

“Yeah.” Vagabond nodded. Jack crouched down in front of her, putting on gloves while she looked the other redhead over.

“I looked a lot better...last time we met, yeah?” She tried to joke, giving Jack a weak smile.

“What happened?” Jack questioned, gently moving Sam’s hand aside so she could look at the wounds.

Sam let her eyes fall shut, trusting Jack to at least not murder her. “I tried- I tried stopping a dog...fighting ring, by myself. It wasn’t fun.” Jack got the needle and thread ready and started to stitch up the rips on her stomach. Sam had to bring her hand up to muffle the cry of pain, her shoulders tensing.

“Why would you do it by yourself?!” Ryan questioned, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched.

“I-I hate dog fight rings.” She slurred, exhaustion really setting in now that she didn’t have to do the patching up herself. “It was the o-only way to make sure it got done right, without any dogs dying.” She winced when Jack finished stitching up one of the wounds, breath hitching as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“You don’t think the LSPD could handle it?” Jack started on another stitch, her hands working quickly.

“You’re kidding, right? The LSPD are shit.” It was getting harder and harder to keep herself awake.

Jack looked up and saw her eyes fluttering. “Hey, keep those eyes on me, okay?”

Sam tried, she really did, but it was futile. “I-I can’t-” Her eyes slipped shut and she let herself fall into sweet unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

When Sam came back into consciousness, her stomach aching in the most painful way. After she managed to push the pain to the back of her mind, she started to hear the yelling. It wasn’t close, but still loud enough to sound like it was in the next room. There was something heavy covering her, something soft and smelling like vanilla beans. She curled up on, what she guessed to be, the couch and inhaled the scent. It helped with the headache she had, that was for sure.

“Why didn’t you send her out the second you saw her in our home?!” Sam could hear Michael yelling. “Or better yet, shoot her?! She invaded our home, Jack.”

“She didn’t look like she was stealing anything, so I didn’t see a reason to.” Jack calmly replied, but her tone had an edge to it.

“So?! We don’t know shit about this bitch!”

Sam sat up, having to take a few deep breathes as the world spun around her. She stood up on shaky legs, keeping the blanket wrapped tight around herself. She quietly walked to the front door, undoing the lock and grabbing the doorknob. 

She jumped when there was an unexpected voice. "Leaving already?" It was Ray, the sniper of the group. He was sitting on one of the kitchen counters, a pink Nintendo DS in his hands. He didn't look like he was going to be alerting the others anytime soon, but she didn't let go of the doorknob.

Sam nodded her head towards the hallway, "It's obvious I never should have come." God, she needed a drink. It felt like she had swallowed cotton. 

"You would have died if you didn't." 

She just shrugged. "I would have gotten back up. Always do."

Ray looked up from the DS, his stare causing tingles to run down her spine. "We never know that for sure. There's-"

"-always that possibility of not reviving, I know. And if it happens, oh well. I'd finally be gone from this Hellish world. Been alive for over three hundred years. I've seen the world evolve enough as it is, been to Hell and back. What more is there?"

"But you've been through it all alone, haven't you?"

The truth in his words hurt more than any wound she has gotten. She  _had_ been alone for all three hundred years. A one woman (half the time, anyways) marching band. "You guys are the first Immortals I've ever come across. I didn't see the point in taking a companion if they were just going to die from the plague, or an injury, and not get back up. I wasn't going to get attached, only to get hurt in the end."

Ray scoffed. "That's sad."

Sam could only shrug, her hand tightening around the doorknob. She had liked Ray before, he was always amusing to watch on the news as he took officers down left and right with little to no effort, but this conversation was starting to make her think otherwise. "It is, but it's what you gotta do to survive." She mumbled before turning the knob and yanking the door open, slipping out of the penthouse. 

It hurt to move, each leg stretch pulling at her stomach. She pulled the blanket up so it covered her head, hiding her face from view. There was no doubt that she looked terrible; a thin layer of sweat on her skin, bags under her eyes, skin way too pale from blood loss. She probably looked like a crackhead, honestly.

The sun was just coming up when she stepped outside. Seeing someone walking out of a high end apartment complex with a blanket covering them was no rare occurrence in Los Santos, so she barely got a second glance.

She stumbled her way to where she’d parked her car and got in, reaching under the seat and pulling the keys out from where she’d taped them to the bottom of the seat. She started the car and left without a second glance, her grip tight around the wheel.

Sam barely knew the Fake AH Crew, other than the fact that they were the most dangerous Crew she had seen in awhile, and that they were immortal like herself. So why did she feel so guilty, just leaving like that?


End file.
